Gabriella's Blog
by xxhsmTGxx
Summary: A blog to replace the diary my little brother Franky found under my bed and turned to confetti. Tune in every night for quality venting, rambling, and the occasional shower thought.
1. First Post! Introductions

**AN: Before we begin, I wanted to quickly clarify the premise and purpose of this project. The story will be in the format of blog posts written by Gabriella. The nightly updates will resemble her real life day-to-day writing and give me a chance to write and post more. I have a bad habit of holding onto material because it never feels ready or good enough. My hope is that posting at least _something_ daily, no matter the length or quality, I will overcome this posting anxiety. I hope you enjoy the story! ****Reviews are highly appreciated. **

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_November 28th, 2019_

I wasn't expecting to have to start over so soon. I still had about fifty blank pages left in my diary before Franky tore it to pieces. I like to reminisce before my words soak onto the final few pages and the whole journal is drowned in my thoughts, cover to cover. It's a peaceful routine to prepare myself for when I open up again in the next empty book. But now I'm suddenly back at the start all over again. The best thing about going digital (besides being impossible to shred) is I have endless 'pages'. I might never need to start over again.

So let's do this right. This is my first post and (hopefully) my final introduction. Get comfortable. There's a lot of baggage to unpack.

My name's Gabriella Montez. I'm from all over. I've lived in Europe, Asia, Africa, and various spots across the continental United States. We have to move every time my dad gets re-stationed. He's in the Air Force. Mom and I take care of my brothers at home while I do my schoolwork online. This way she's not constantly leaving jobs and I'm not always the new kid like some torturous Groundhog Day hell.

My dad was raised in Honduras before moving to the US when he turned eighteen. His dad, my grandfather, came from a long line of farmers dating as far back as they could count the generations. The whole Montez family lived together on the countryside; there were uncles, aunts, cousins, elders, his parents, and his baby sister. But once the nearby city grew in size and a college was established, most of his relatives were pulled off the family farm to go to school instead. After my grandfather died of a heart attack when my dad was still a boy, nobody was left to tend to the crops. It was simply too much work for those who had remained, so his mom got a tiny apartment in the city for the herself, him, and his baby sister. The electricity and plumbing were terribly unreliable, and many times they could only eat one meal a day.

The most interesting thing about my dad is he's a genius. He made a functioning radio using scraps he found on the street and learned to steal the signal for network television on their TV just because he wanted to watch Sunday morning cartoons. He picked up on many languages spoken in the city and is currently fluent in seven. Needless to say, he excelled in school. His performance was so impressive he had a full ride scholarship with the opportunity to study in the United States. He spent a year in New York City studying at Columbia, which was where he met my mom.

Mom came from the opposite part of the world - both literally and figuratively. She was from a very, very affluent family in upstate New York. She competed in horse racing and danced ballet with an Olympic-level trainer. The house was one of the nicest in the neighborhood – East Hampton. The Christmas she brought home my father from college, her parents were unimpressed. He had cleaned himself up as well as he could, but all they saw was a poor foreigner looking for a ticket to stay in the US.

He proposed the day before he had to return to Honduras and returned again on a fiancé visa. They described this engagement period as torturous. Her family kept saying he was only looking for a green card, while his guilted him for leaving his mother and sister behind for a better life in the states. Despite what everyone said, they married.

They would never admit it, but I'm pretty sure I was an accident. The timing was just too inconvenient with my Honduran family's visa issues, not to forget my parents' constant relocating (although I guess that's never changed). What tips me off is the age gap between me and my brothers. It was a whole eight years before the next one, and since then they've been coming out rapid fire.

Paul is nearly eight now, but is as helpless as a newborn. Maybe that's too harsh. I think he only pretends to be dumb because he's learned mom will always come to the rescue. He doesn't know how to fold laundry, or load the dishes, or where anything goes. He just plays on his laptop all the time. I don't know when he studies on it. I've never seen the homeschooling software on his screen. I wouldn't be surprised if he fails and gets left behind.

Wyatt is five and a non-stop neutron star of energy. He's always looking for someone to play with, and that usually falls between Paul and me. His go-to play pretend include dinosaurs, spies, soldiers, police, and lions. Sometimes he'll want Legos or Hot Wheels, but that's very short-lived. He still gets the occasional tantrum at the dentist, but for the most part he's an easy kid.

Then there's the cutest little nightmare you'll ever see – Franky. At only two-and-a-half years of life behind him, he can't know any better. His favorite word is "mine" and his least favorite is "no." Sometimes he's adorable, but other times it's best to let mom deal with his toddler meltdowns.

The only one left is Ian. He's seven months old and crawling now. No words yet. Very giggly and smelly.

Thanksgiving is today, but it feels like a normal day here in Italy. Not that I'm ultra-patriotic anyways. I don't feel strongly American with how much we're abroad. I feel more like a citizen of the world if anything. There are whispers we might be returning to the US again soon. I never believe it until we're pulling up to the next, newest house. Things get canceled and rearranged all the time in this family.

Mom is yelling for me to bathe Franky. I have homework to submit by midnight, so I probably won't be able to post again until tomorrow.

If anyone finds this…I hope you have a good night, wherever you are in the world.

_\- Gabriella Montez_

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**AN: Day 1 is complete! Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you thought in a review. And Happy Thanksgiving everyone! **


	2. Maybe Means No

_November 29th, 2019._

Today was a very productive day, interrupted only by the occasional chore or snack. I learned the trigonometric functions, practiced French conjugations, studied psychology terms, and read half of Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. Overall, mom had Wyatt, Franky, and Ian managed, and Paul was too distracted by his videogames to bother me.

Shortly after lunch time, I overheard Paul ask mom to go to the beach. I knew she'd say no, but now that the thought was in my mind, suddenly I wanted to go too. I bookmarked my page and went to the kitchen where mom was Mom stirring a pot and Paul was standing on the bar connecting the legs of a stool like we've told him not to hundreds of times before. I offered, "I'll take him."

Mom glanced to me and said, "It's a long walk for the two of you alone. I'd be worried."

Paul whined, "Come on, Mom. We've done it before!"

"And I was worried sick then too."

Paul dramatically plopped down onto his stool and pouted, a tactic typically used by six-year-olds. I bargained, "How about when dad gets home?"

She countered, "Maybe when dad gets home."

That was a no, and Paul knew it too. The barstool screeched as he pushed himself away from the counter. Then he proceeded to squeak his shoes all the way across the linoleum tile to the foyer and beyond. Mom smirked at me. Does she think this is cute?

I asked, "Do you need any help here?"

"No, I have it taken care of." I suspected she said this because the more I did for her, the more indebted she'd feel. She wasn't wrong. I just wanted to give her less reason to say no.

It didn't matter in the end. Mom told us to wait until Dad came home, but he still hadn't by the time the sun had started to set. I passed by Paul's room to retrieve a new box of pencils from storage when he jumped out dressed in his swim trunks. "Are you ready?"

"We're not going."

The excitement on his face deflated into a frown. "That's what mom said?"

"She didn't need to. Look outside. It's too dark and Dad still isn't home."

In an instant, he switched from sad to angry and lashed out, "I don't believe you!"

"Go ask mom yourself."

He spun back to the kitchen and I continued my trek to the storage room. A couple moments later I heard his door slam, and as I walked back with my new bundle of new pencils, I heard crying.

Such a baby. I know I'm supposed to feel bad for him, but the amount of times this immaturity has burdened me makes it hard for me to care. I wouldn't be so impatient if he acted like a normal eight-year-old, but he's as emotionally turbulent as a toddler. Sometimes he has these episodes like complete meltdowns. Dad has to physically restrain him so he doesn't hurt himself or destroy anything. And there's no reasoning with him when he's like that. We just have to let him run himself out of energy. Nobody can convince me that's normal. I certainly have never had an episode like that, and I'm twice his age now.

I try to talk to mom about it, but all she does is defend him and say I'm being mean. If anyone would notice these things, it would be me. I'm the one who has to deal with it the most since mom is usually preoccupied with Wyatt, Franky, and Ian. I really only feel bad for myself. I'm sorry if that makes me selfish, but sometimes I get so burnt out by this family.

Today was one of those times.

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**AN: Kind of a shorter update, but I hope you don't mind. I am updating everyday so sometimes her posts will be brief since I won't be able to consistently write 1000+ words each day. **

**Anyways, I hope this update gave you more insight into Gabriella and her family members. **

**Please let me know what you thought with a review. **


	3. Son of a Beach

_November 30th, 2019 _

For the first time in a longer time than I can remember, Paul and I tried to work together. It was barely 8:00am and we were eating our typical breakfast – waffles with scrambled eggs and bacon – when Paul mentioned the beach again. Mom said maybe, and Paul pouted like usual.

I asked, "Why is it just maybe?"

Mom responded, "Because I don't know if it will be possible, Gabriella. I don't want to get your hope up."

I bargained, "Why wouldn't it happen, and how can we avoid that?"

"I'm not sure."

"_You're_ the one deciding it to be so. Why can't we go?"

Dad warned, "Gabriella." He froze mid-motion, this time with a forkful of scrambled eggs hovering over his plate. His brown eyes peered over the glasses resting on the tip of his nose at me, the signature silent warning fathers always do.

I was surprised when Paul caught on and asked, "Mom, why can't we go?"

She looked to me like this was my fault, which I suppose it was. "I already told you both. I don't know what could happen today, but I don't want you to get your hopes up."

He threw his hands up and slouched over, saying, "My hopes _are_ up!" Little Wyatt erupted in a giggling fit at Paul's dramatic declaration and I stifled down a laugh. Ian, perched on mom's lap with applesauce oozing from his lips, wordlessly witnessed everything.

Dad said, "Listen to your mother," and swiftly gathered all our plates, regardless if we were done or not. He's very patient and calm with us, especially for a drill sergeant. While it may not seem like much, I know my dad and I know that was him unhappy.

I started on my schoolwork, listening to an audio lecture about the American government while practicing unit circle problems. It was an hour before I'd need to start helping mom with lunch when I decided I was going to the beach, whether she wanted me to or not.

I looked into Paul's room and asked, "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? Video games!"

"You ever do schoolwork on that thing?"

"You ever mind your own business?"

"Well, I thought you might want to go to the beach, but I guess that's _my own business_." I pivoted away and shut his door behind me.

I heard his muffled cry, "Wait!" The door swung open and he asked, "Mom said yes?"

"Mom will never say yes, Paul. But we're going to make it so that she couldn't say no, and therefore can't be mad."

"What do you mean?"

"You need to clean your room, and your bathroom, and pick up the playroom. I will take care of the rest, and then we'll meet back here after lunch to sneak out."

He whispered, "Sneak out?"

I nodded.

"Okay!" He rushed back to his computer chair and picked up where he paused his game.

"Paul!" I snapped, "Do what I said! Pick up this place."

"I _will_!" he growled.

I rolled my eyes and went back to my room. I put the lecture on double speed and finished it in half an hour while writing my paper for French. I grabbed the glass cleaner and a toilet brush from Mom and Dad's bathroom and started on the windows and guest bathroom. I had already wiped down the diaper changing table when mom caught me taking the dirty diaper bag out to the bins.

She had Ian over her shoulder, rocking side to side and gently burping him. "How's studying?" She asked me.

"It's good, just needed a break." I shrugged.

"So you started to clean?"

I looked down to the bag in my hand as if I hadn't realized what I was doing and felt like a total fool. "I guess so."

"Thank you," she said and walked off. I was relieved she didn't seem suspicious. It looked like this could still work out! That was, until I went to check on Paul when I opened the door to see him still on his video games.

"Paul! What did I tell you? You need to pick up your room!"

"I did pick up!"

"Where?"

He pointed to the stack of laundry and video game boxes on his bed.

"Picking up doesn't mean putting everything on your bed. Have you cleaned your bathroom?"

"I don't know how!"

"Paul…you might have mom fooled, but I know you are not this helpless."

"I really don't know how!"

"This is the only time I will ever do this for you. Put everything away and make it look like mom cleaned it, and I will take care of your bathroom. And _hurry_. No more video games until after the beach."

"Okay!" He powered down his computer and rushed over to his bed. Finally! Something got through to him.

By the time I finished cleaning his bathroom and sneaking all his dirty laundry to the laundry room, Paul had actually done an OK job. He neglected to make his bed, but that was a quick fix. The carpet was filthy with crumbs and dirty, but I knew mom would come up if she heard the vacuum running. I left Paul to get ready as I put on my bikini underneath my shorts and T-shirt. I also wrote a note for Mom to find in my room when she inevitably checked in on us. It explained where we were going, what route we were taking, and that we'd be home in three hours tops.

We met up again in the hallway between his room and the office. I hoisted the beach bag with our goggles, sunscreen, and towels over my shoulder and led him out through the garden.

Paul was so jittery the way there, doing this weird shuffle step like a happy dance as he walked. "Oh boy! We finally get to go to the beach! Maybe after we go home Mom and Dad will come back with Franky, Wyatt, and Ian. Then we can spend the whole night there too!"

I scoffed, "You don't honestly believe that, do you?"

"Why not?"

I rolled my eyes. "You are delusional."

"What's that?"

"Stupid when you can't help it."

He screamed at me like I knew he would, "I'm not stupid!" but the next part I never anticipated. "You're a bitch."

I gasped, "Paul!" I wanted to throw up. He's never said something like that before. "Do _not_ say that word!"

"Don't tell me what to do! You're not mom!"

"It's not like you ever listen to her either."

He murmured underneath his breath, and I think it sounds something like 'bitch' again. He stomps ahead, and I'm tempted to swat the back of his head. The little shit.

We walked the rest of the way there, him stomping a few yards ahead and me trailing behind in disgust and shock. I was so conflicted. Part of me wanted to turn us around right then for punishment, but then this all would have been for nothing. We'd still be grounded even if we hadn't made it to the beach yet, so I let us keep going.

The moment the sea came into sight, Paul sprinted ahead full force into the waves, neglecting to remove his shirt or shoes. I took my time neatly packing my outside clothes away, spreading out our massive beach towel and lathering up with sunscreen. I laid down on my back and let the hot Italian sun heat me. The feeling of the warm rays of light and the sound of the waves is so indescribably peaceful. It's like a taste of heaven. Sometimes I hate where we get re-stationed, but I could live here forever. Or better yet, they could keep moving and I'd have this place all to myself. Give me a million dollars and a tall, dark, and handsome man to keep me company. Now I know I'm describing heaven!

Some clouds rolling in blocked my sun, and I kept an eye on them just in case, but they didn't look stormy. I stood on the wet sand and let the waves tease my toes, rushing up like they would lick them before shyly retreating. I began to pace the shore as Paul repeatedly body slammed into the waves, with the occasional big one toppling him over and washing him back up the land. Boys are stupid.

Later when I thought it was about time to leave, a couple of schoolboys around Paul's age came around with a soccer ball. We couldn't understand exactly what they were saying, but I figured they were offering to play. We played for a long enough match when I stopped and waved to them goodbye. I said to Paul, "We should probably start heading back."

He whined, "I'm not leaving!"

"Paul, I can't leave you here alone."

"You said mom and dad wouldn't let us come down again."

"So? We still need to go home."

"No," he shouted.

"_No_? What do you mean no? I'm telling you we must go. There's no yes or no choice, Paul." He said nothing but turned to rejoin the soccer match. I caught his arm and pulled him back. I shouted, "Come on! We're leaving!"

He cried, "You're not the boss of me! You're not the boss of me!" He flailed in my grasp and blindly swung his arms until one of his swings caught the side of my face. I instinctively released my grip and held my cheek. I knew if I pressed it any further this would become a full-on meltdown with the kind of screaming and thrashing only Paul could produce. So I removed the folded towel again and took a seat on the sand, watching Paul play.

Another half hour passed before I tried again, this time more sternly because I knew Mom was worrying. I told her a few hours, not sundown. I called him over, but he completely ignored me like I was nothing more than an annoying whistle in the wind. So I warned him he had only ten minutes left, and after that ten minutes was up, I finally intervened. I snatched up the ball and pointed down the beach. The Italian boys were confused, so I tapped the back of my wrist like a watch, pointed to Paul and I, and pointed to the street. Hopefully they understood it was time for Paul and I to leave. I took a running start down the beach and kicked the ball as far as I could. I watched them take off after it before Paul started going after it too.

"Not you, Paul! I told you ten minutes!"

"I want to play with my friends!"

"Paul, we have to leave. You can play with them another day."

"No."

"Yes!"

He screamed at the top of his lungs as if he was being kidnapped or dying, "No!"

Even the boys, now a field's length down the beach, turned to look at us. It was so loud and terrified I thought someone might call the police. I had to let him stay. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't drag him all the way home myself, and he was refusing to go on his own. I thought about running home and returning with mom and dad, but I couldn't leave him unattended without knowing when the other boys would leave.

At sunset, the other boys' mother came to retrieve them. Finally he was ready to leave. By the time we were finally to our street, it was dark.

The door was only halfway open when Mom's voice rang out, "What were you thinking, Gabriella Montez?"

I passed by her into the house and said over my shoulder, "Talk to your son."

"You're the older sister! You need to be more responsible!"

"How can you lecture me about something when you don't even know what happened? I tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place, Gabriella. That's where you went wrong."

"But it wouldn't have been this bad and gotten you so worried if your brat son had listened to me!"

Mom opened her mouth to respond, but I could only hear a blood-curdling screech. Mom, Dad, and I found Paul screaming in the corner of the room with his ears covered as all my younger brothers started crying from the scare. Mom went ahead with Ian into the nursery. I carried Wyatt on my hip and took Franky's hand to lead them upstairs to where it was quieter. She and I reassured them the best we could. I clearly heard Paul from the living room repeatedly sobbing, "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" and Dad's muffled attempts to calm him down.

It was the longest one so far, for nearly half an hour we had to listen to him flip out. Thankfully he quieted down as Mom and I were putting the little ones to sleep.

As much as I want to shrug this off on him just being crazy, I do feel partly to blame. He was calling himself stupid, and only I know where he heard that today. It's not like I tried to upset him! Sometimes it's literally the smallest thing, like we run out of milk for cereal or his computer crashes. I don't want this to be my fault. I just wish he was normal.

\- _Gabriella Montez_


	4. Grounded

_December 1st, 2019 _

Of all the things that could be said about me or my family, the one thing no one can deny is our resilience. Or is it avoidance? Sometimes I can't tell the difference.

Just this morning, we were eating breakfast like nothing that transpired last night ever occurred. Mom was feeding Ian Gerber, Wyatt was making syrup art on his plate with his finger, Dad was translating the newpaper cartoons to Franky, and Paul was perfectly calm.

I always hope after every meltdown that my parents will finally take Paul to be evaluated by a psychiatrist. I won't pretend to know exactly what's going on in that head of his, but he's obviously developmentally delayed and probably autistic, I'd guess. But either it's too much of an inconvenience to find a good doctor before we inevitably ship off again, or they don't think it happens often enough to be a concern. Which I can understand, it's really only a problem every few months or so. But they don't feel how he's constantly on the verge like I do. Any tiny shift in tone or _perceived_ tone upsets him so much. That's why I think he's like a little kid trapped inside a bigger kid's body. I could frown at him long enough and he'd start crying. He's as easy to set off as Wyatt, who's two and a half.

I thought we would avoid it forever, but once I went to put my dirty dishes in the dishwasher, Mom asked me to meet her in the office.

Uh oh.

I waited for her behind the computer desk, pacing the space in front of the window. She closed the door behind her and crossed her arms over her chest. "We need to talk about what you did. Your father and I are grounding you. Effective immediately. I have no idea what you were thinking, but what you did was terribly irresponsible. It was so unlike you."

It was bullshit, but all I said to her was, "I understand." But that was bullshit too.

She forbade me from watching Netflix or YouTube, but it wasn't like I really needed it. I don't mind studying to help the time pass. I like school, and because its self-paced I can learn as much as I want any given day. In fact, I can graduate a whole year early at my current rate.

I had to login to Skype at noon for homeschool bible study. Bridget from Australia usually leads the discussion and coordinates the scriptures for that week. I read them sometimes, but I've honestly never been religious enough to add more assignments to my already busy curriculum for it. I just do it to please my parents, and to get out of watching live church with my brothers.

There are a few guys in the bible study. Ricky is far too orthodox and religious for my taste, but Mike is kind of good looking. I don't think I would otherwise be interested in him if it wasn't for my homeschooled status. If I went to a normal public school, I'd likely have a real crush and real potential to pursue it, but that's just not a possibility with homeschooling. There are some homeschooled teens who 'date' online, but I don't see the point. Many of them will never meet each other in person.

Sometimes I fantasize about attending an in-person high school. I think I'll have all these friends to hang out with throw house parties like in the movies. I'd have a boyfriend to go out on dates and touch. I don't like to think about it for too long because then I want it, but it seems so impossible. Mom and Dad asked me about a permanent residence in the US a couple months ago and I told them I'd love that, but they haven't brought it up since.

I'll add it to the growing list of maybe's.

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**AN: Sorry I'm uploading this so late in the day. Thank you for your patience and reviews. Please let me know what you thought of this post too! **


	5. We're Moving Again

_December 2__nd__, 2019 _

I spent the whole day packing, folding hundreds of cardboard boxes and unpeeling the packaging tape that inevitably stuck to my hair. Usually dad's work gives him a month's notice, but this was a total surprise.

Albuquerque, New Mexico is our next destination. It sounded familiar, but I honestly knew nothing about it. I did a quick Google search and found it has nice weather and is popular for a hot air balloon fiesta. Cool, I guess? Not like it really matters. We'll probably only be there for a little less than a year anyways.

I supervised the little ones while my mom and dad packed their bedroom. I called down for Paul to watch them for two minutes so I could sprint to the bathroom, but he ignored me. He was probably playing videogames like always.

Paul's birthday is coming up and I'm concerned my parents are just going to buy him more videogames. It's a bad idea to contribute to the problem, but there's really not much else he likes to do that would make for a good present. It's crazy how hyper-focused he gets. The whole house could be burning down and he wouldn't notice until his wires started melting. It irritated me today especially because I know mom is just going to pack his room for him. I don't know how she can't see just how much she enables him.

Wyatt was so loud and destructive with how he screeched and ran into walls, but he's a little _boy_. They're kind of crazy like that. Franky admires him so much. I can see it in the way he chases after him, always on his heels like a shadow. He'll yell when Wyatt yells, and copies as many words as he understands. Good thing Ian can't walk yet. I don't know how we'll be able to handle those three running around and crashing into everything. Everything will need to be padded or covered in a thick layer of bubble wrap.

When my mom returned to take over babysitting duties, I volunteered to make dinner. We have so many groceries we won't be able to use since we're leaving the day after tomorrow. I cooked some salmon with a side of sweet potatoes and asparagus to the best of my ability, which I like to think is an impressive three Michelin stars. I told Mom about my food surplus concerns, and she said we could go to the plaza tomorrow and give it to the church.

I just hope that's what really happens. A lot of what she says anymore I wait to believe until it's happening. I save myself from a lot of heartbreak and false hope this way.

Now mom is calling for me to help with nighttime baths and reading. Until tomorrow.

\- _Gabriella Montez _


	6. Longing To Be Free

_December 3__rd__, 2019 _

Today has been one shitstorm after the other.

Granted, the first five minutes were okay. I got to sleep in and take my time scrolling through my phone before crawling out of bed. I slipped on a pair of sweatpants and gathered my hair into a ponytail before heading out to the kitchen. I could feel the electric charge of panic in the air as I walked in. Mom was frantically flipping the bacon with one hand while pouring milk into our cereal with the other. Poor Ian was confined to her chest by a wrap over her shoulder. Dad was taking stack after stack of plates and bowls out of the cabinets piled up ten at a time. I had barely sat with my brothers at the table before Mom asked me to serve everything.

I asked her, "What's with the rush?"

"Our flight got moved up."

"To when?"

She didn't answer immediately, just spun around looking for something before snatching the saltshaker off the oven. "You don't want to know."

"Maybe not, but I'm thinking I should."

"Three in the morning."

"Jesus. How is that going to work?"

"I woke up Wyatt and Franky early so hopefully it won't be as bad tomorrow. We need to pack like a madhouse today."

After I served my brothers, I snarfed down my food. I snuck out and packed Paul's computer while he finished breakfast so that he'd actually help us today. I completely boxed it up and took it out to the patio where Dad was loading the moving truck, and then returned to my room to start packing my bookshelves. I realized too late all those books made the boxes too heavy, so I had to take half of them out of each box and fill the rest of the space with my lighter clothes. I was marking each of them with my name when I heard it: Paul's hysterical crying moving past my door like surround sound.

I let Mom and Dad deal with it. The more exposure they get to just how bad it is, the more likely they'll do something about it.

They only lasted twenty minutes.

Dad stepped over the boxes barricading my doorway and asked me, "Where did you put Paul's computer?"

"You're _not_ serious."

"Please, you need to tell me where it is."

I rose from my spot on the rug and led him out to the truck, passing by Paul writhing on the floor and Mom dabbing his tears with her sleeve. We went to the back of the truck and I pushed a few smaller boxes away before digging through the all the ones of the same size. Dad became desperate enough to peel open every box in his reach. Ten minutes later, we finally found it. Dad rushed it inside as if it was a crash cart to revive him. I followed and helped him plug in the cords.

By the time we went back out to the living room, Paul was lying flat on his back with his bloodshot, puffy eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Dad said, "It's ready, Paul. You can play again."

Paul didn't move, just sniffled and continued to quietly weep. Mom looked concerned. _Finally_. She gently said, "It's okay now, Paul. You can go play your games." Still, he laid there unmoved. She looked to my father who could only shrug. Suddenly, Paul crawled onto his feet and took off upstairs.

Exasperated, I asked them, "Can we please get him evaluated now?"

Dad responded, "When we get settled in Albuquerque, I'll look for a psychiatrist."

_Finally! _

Paul was allowed to play videogames all day as mom and I brought him snacks. I don't like being a part of the problem, but we were willing to do just about anything to avoid another meltdown. It's only the afternoon as I write this, but there's still so much left to do. We can't afford to have another freak out. I offered to carry our extra food to the church, but Dad said we'll have to drop it off on the way to the airport.

I'm not mad necessarily, but I am disappointed. I know they can't just call up the Department of Defense and ask for a later flight. I don't know what to think anymore. Maybe I'm being selfish again.

All I wanted was to see the plaza one last time. The street was made of laid bricks, and a massive fountain occupied the very center. The little Italian cars and mopeds zoomed around in every direction, making me dizzy if I watched for too long. The streets aren't marked with their names or one-way signs, but somehow all the locals instinctively know. Whenever Dad got Sunday off and we had enough hands to handle my brothers, we'd all go to church together at the little chapel overlooking the sea.

The best time to be there was when I was alone. Sometimes Mom forgot an ingredient or two, so she'd send me out with some money and a short list. If I timed it just right, the local high school would dismiss and a group my age congregated at the fountain.

I liked to watch them. They were nonchalant and relaxed, lounging on the fountain walls. Once a guy pushed his friend in, and he retaliated by dragging him in too. Everyone else was laughing until a fistfight broke out right in the middle of the fountain. The baker ran out wielding a flour-dusted rolling pin to break it up. The soaked teens argued with him for a while before the baker's wife retrieved him. That wasn't normal. Usually they were dragging each other out into traffic and laughed when the angered adults screamed out in dialect at them. They were so stupid and careless, but God did I wish I could be half as free as them.


	7. Traveling Day

_December 4__th__, 2019 _

Mom and I got into it today.

We began as comrades buried together in the bubble wrap and cardboard trenches. By the time we were done packing around an hour after midnight, it was already time to head to the airport. We wrangled up a fussy infant, a screaming toddler, and an overtired five-year-old. Paul went out to the rented car and immediately fell asleep in the back row, which was totally fine by me.

The airport was vacant and easy to maneuver. Dad was on baby duty for a change while Mom and I rested. Paul annoyed the man in front of him by kicking his seat so much that he confronted my father. I wanted to say to the man, "Welcome to my world."

Ian was very loud for the last forty-five minutes of the flight. No amount of formula or rocking could soothe him, and that earned us the dirtiest looks by the rest of the flight as we left.

The layover in Chicago was brutal. Paul and Wyatt played tag as we walked by the terminals. This would have been okay, but O'Hare was busy and they chased each other into countless people. We tried to get them to sit for lunch, but that was futile. Mom asked my dad if we should take them to Millennium Park to run off some energy, but Dad said we wouldn't have time. So we waited a while longer and finally got some food in them only to discover at the gate that our plane was, in fact, delayed.

When Dad went to change Ian in the rest room, and Mom was on hold with the car rental place, she told Paul, "We're going to the park."

"Don't tell him that until you mean it," I said. "You can't keep promising us things you won't deliver."

She snapped, "I am your mother, and I will not be lectured by _you_."

I turned to face her head on and said, "You aren't the only one. I'm Backup Mom, but without any of the authority or respect." I crossed my arms and slouched away from her. I hope she heard me, but I couldn't know for sure because she started talking to the phone before I could finish. It was for the best because I still had a bunch left to say. I don't know if I ever would have shut up. I was absolutely _seething_.

Unsurprisingly, she couldn't get a car. I could have suggested a ride app, but I didn't want to leave the airport with them. It'd be too much to handle. She went to tell Paul we couldn't go, but I stopped her and said, "Just let him forget. If he asks later then deal with it then."

"Good thinking."

_Absolutely genius, I know. _

My jaw was clenched the entire second flight. I was so stressed we'd have another meltdown or tantrum or screaming baby that I gave myself a stress headache. The sleep deprivation didn't help. I grabbed some overpriced pain meds in the airport before we headed off to the hotel.

It's only happened a few times before when our next house wasn't ready or still occupied so we couldn't move in yet. Our family is pretty big, so housing to accommodate all of us is hard to find.

The hotel's lobby smelled like Kool-Aid. That's the best way I can describe it. The halls and pool seemed well-kept, but the rooms are so claustrophobic. We only have two connected rooms with four queen beds total, plus we had to fit in a crib for Ian and a toddler bed for Franky. Mom and Dad shared while Paul, Wyatt, and me each had a bed to ourselves.

I'm curled up with my laptop while Paul lays across the bottom of my bed to have a better view of the TV. He's asked to use it three times already, and I fear he's growing impatient.

It's kind of counterintuitive how because we're so close to help now, I'm more concerned than ever. Maybe before it was easier to accept nothing because I was forced to accept it. Now we can do something about it, and I'm scared for him. I just hope he can get better. I don't want to be told there's nothing to do, and he'll only get worse.

He's getting angsty. I'll write again tomorrow.

\- _Gabriella Montez_


	8. Hotel & Housing Update

_December 5__th__, 2019 _

I don't think the hotel walls can be this thin and still up to code. My sleep was interrupted a thousand times by various coughs and thuds and TV's in the rooms around us. I could hear Mom and Dad waking up around six thirty, but I didn't bother trying to fall asleep again. I joined them around their Keurig and made myself a cup of hot tea while dad slurped his black coffee and mom stirred in her creamer. Judging by the dark, puffy circles underneath their eyes, their experience was the same as mine.

"We can't stay here," dad said into his half-empty mug.

"What choice do we have?" Mom spoke. "The house isn't ready."

"Anywhere would be better than here."

It was decided then that while Dad was away at work and Mom watched my brothers, I was to spend the day searching the web for a reasonably priced rental home. I sent emails, messaged through housing apps, and called a few renters. By the end of the day, I had nothing but frustration and worry lines to show for it.

The big deal-breaker was not knowing how long we'd stay. Could be a few days or weeks. If it wasn't that, the place was already being rented out.

I can try again tomorrow, but it'll be Paul's birthday. I have no idea what we're doing, or if my parents have anything planned. I just pray to God they don't buy him more videogames for his gift.


	9. Paul's Birthday

_December 6__th__, 2019 _

I don't know how I did it, but I managed to make Paul a birthday cake.

Sort of.

I had already been up since four in the morning when I overhead the alarm clock in my parents' room go off around six. I trudged in as I did yesterday, when an idea struck me. "Mom," I said, "can I have some cash?" She thought for a long time and rubbed her eyes tiredly, twirling her morning coffee with a stirrer. "Mom?"

She heavily sighed and pulled herself up to her feet. "I suppose," she said. Lazily shuffling across the room to her luggage, she removed her purse from the pile of baby bags and clothes.

Armed with a wad of crumpled ones, I hunted down the vending machine on the third floor. I nabbed all his favorites; Reese's, KitKats, Snickers, and Twinkies. It was such a big load that I resorted to folding up the bottom of my shirt and carrying it like a pouch.

I went downstairs to our room and got straight to work. I scavenged for a paper plate behind the coffee machine and peeled off all the wrappers. Two Twinkies laid side by side with another two lying perpendicular at the ends. I broke off the KitKats into their four equal sticks and stabbed them into the Twinkie cake. The Reese's stacked up nicely between the KitKat columns, and the Snickers worked well as a perimeter.

Carefully holding the flimsy paper plate from the bottom, I carried it in to show Mom and Dad. "What on Earth is that?" Mom asked, now significantly more awake and alerted by my masterpiece.

"It's Paul's birthday cake."

Dad said, "What a thoughtful present, diabetes."

"I didn't know if you had done anything yet."

Mom said, "It's a lovely gesture, Gabriella."

We grabbed our little brothers and gathered around Paul's bed. Together, we sang Happy Birthday, and Paul's lazy eyes fluttered awake. I put the cake up to his face and his eyes glowed with wonder. "Oh my God," he said. He plucked out a KitKat and eagerly snarfed it down all before I could set it on his nightstand.

"Happy Birthday, my baby," Mom said with a peck on his cheek.

When Dad got home around dinner time, we asked him where he wanted to go for dinner. He could choose anywhere since it was his birthday, but he chose McDonalds. _McDonalds_!

When we got back to the hotel, Mom uncovered a present from her luggage. It wasn't wrapped but remained in an unmarked cardboard box. Paul eagerly tore off the flaps, pushed the packing peanuts aside, and pulled out a Rubix cube, dominoes set, cards, and sac of marbles. "What is all this?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" Mom asked. "They're games!"

"Real world games," I clarified.

He stood, approached me, and dropped the box of games in my lap.

At least Mom tried.


	10. Permanent, As In Forever

_December 7__th__, 2019 _

Thirty minutes after I had confirmed a rental home, Dad told me to cancel. Our permanent house was finally ready.

Did you catch it?

_Permanent_ house. Permanent, as in, we're never moving again. Not ever. Not one more time. I'm still in a state of shock, if you couldn't tell by my redundancy.

Even weirder, they want me to look into public high school. There are three we're considering: Central, East, and West. Mom says I can go in on Monday to shadow a student at East. It's her top choice because it's the nicest district in Albuquerque and has more competitive teams and extracurricular opportunities than the others.

I'm freaking out! All the movies I've seen make it look like a cutthroat jungle. There are rich, beautiful, popular kids who mercilessly bully homeschooled weirdos like me. I messaged Bridget from online bible study to ask how it is because she went public for a semester. Hopefully it's not as bad as they make it seem.

Mom says we'll go shopping for supplies tomorrow since tonight will be dedicated to compiling our luggage and arranging with the movers. I hope I can get some sleep before I shadow on Monday, but I have a feeling I'll be too anxious the next two nights.

Hopefully your sleep is better than mine.

Much Love,

_Gabriella Montez_


	11. A Wildcat in its Natural Habitat

_December 8__th__, 2019 _

We attended a sermon at a non-denominational church this morning, but Mom got stuck in the cry room with Ian. I spaced out, staring blankly at the stained glass behind the statue of Jesus pinned to the wall. I have no idea what the minister was saying, as all I could worry about was my shadowing day tomorrow.

After the little boys were tied in nicely to their car seats and Paul and I got trapped in the last row, we went to the new house.

I hate it.

The neighborhood is suburban cookie cutter and Godless. I can already tell these people care way too much about their lawns. It's like the Homeowner's Association only approved of ten beige-ish swatches for exterior paint. I bet the developers built the same exact layout, too. There's the silver lining; I'd always know where my neighbor's restroom is if I had sudden diarrhea in the middle of a jog.

This might be the biggest bedroom I've ever had, and I don't have to share it with Paul. It's usually a fifty percent chance of that happening each time we move. That's where I am now, laying on my stomach facing the end of the bed with my feet at the head. The movers got everything unloaded before we arrived, so I'm surrounded by countless boxes marked _Gabriella: Clothes_, _Gabriella: Books, _and _Gabriella: Miscellaneous. _I'm vaguely curious about the box marked _Gabriella: Memories_ because I know I didn't pack it. I told my parents I was unpacking, but somehow church and fretting exhausted me. Not like this is much more interesting.

Fine! I'll do something productive, but I won't be happy about it.

Update: I went to hang my dresses and discovered I have a walk-in closet! Starting to think this might be the master bedroom, but I'm going to keep that between you and I.

Update numero dos: All my dresses, pants, skirts, shirts, and jackets have been hung in my closet, but I have yet to find any underwear.

Update Three: Nearly an hour later and my bookshelf is arranged just how I like it (organized by spine color to make a rainbow because I am secretly still a five-year-old who's obsessed with rainbows). The 'Miscellaneous' box was full of office supplies, but my desk is downstairs in the study. Still no sign of underwear. Will keep updating.

Update Four: My underwear (discretely marked in the thickest Sharpie letters I've ever seen **GABRIELLA: UNDERWEAR**) was found by my mom in the kitchen. I have no idea how someone messes up like that. I'm just thankful I have underwear.

Bridget's response was a whole lot of nothing. She said all the movies and shows exaggerate it, but there is some underlying truth. There are cliques and a social hierarchy and a status quo. But depending on the size of the school, there can be a lot of popular kids, not one quarterback who rules the pack like they portray in the shows. The popular kids aren't always rich or model-like attractive. They can be popular for being nice, which makes sense as they naturally make a load of friends. Some "popular" kids are better described as infamous – well known for being the leader of a group of douchebags.

The gist of her message was that it all depends, and I'll have to find out tomorrow. Each school has is its own little world with its own people and problems.

I guess if there's one thing I wouldn't mind coming true is the hot guys. He doesn't need to be an Aaron Samuels replica or captain of a sports team, but an attractive, smart, funny, and nice guy would be a welcome change to the old homeschool pace.

Oh my God! What if I meet my future boyfriend tomorrow? I just got the chills! That is so exciting! I really hope it happens. I've never done anything with a boy ever. Not held hands or kissed! Once a Turkish schoolboy tried to kiss me outside his dad's shoe shop, but I pushed him away and ran back to my mom in the plaza. That is the extent of my love life. Deprived, I know.

There's so much more that could happen too! I could go to one of those high school parties with alcohol and weed and making out and…sex. My heart just skipped a beat at the thought of it, but I don't think that was in excitement. It felt more like dread, like it sunk into my stomach. I don't think I could do that. Eventually of course, like maybe in college. I just don't see it happening in high school. I almost hope it doesn't. That seems like a big step to take when obviously it's not going to work out long term. Not that a relationship needs to be long term to be physically intimate…at least I don't think. Maybe? The more I think about this the more I realize that I have no clue what I'm talking about, which is accurate. My only sexual experiences have been by myself. Is that TMI? Geez, now I really hope no one I know can ever find this.

Mom took me to the Target across the highway to buy a backpack around rush hour. They didn't have the typical back-to-school sales since it's already halfway through the school year, but the office supply section had a wall with book bags. We were deciding between the over the shoulder, the double straps, and the rolling ones when mom spotted another section.

"Look," she said. "They have East High apparel." We found the aisle at the front of the store stocked with red and white bottles, lunch bags, pencil cases, and backpacks all adorned with the Wildcat logo.

I grabbed an over the shoulder book bag and tried it on as mom skimmed through the next aisle. The clacks of dress shoes hitting the tile pulled my attention to the end of my aisle. A heavy-set girl in a knee-length beige skirt and pink checkered blouse smiled at me as she approached. At first, I thought she was mistaking me for someone else, but then she was a foot in front of me asking, "Do I spot a Wildcat grazing in its natural habitat?"

I felt my face drop blank. I asked, "Excuse me?"

"Do you go to East High?"

I looked to the book bag and saw the Wildcat logo, nearly facepalming when I realized what she meant. I said, "I shadow tomorrow."

A warm smile stretched across her face, puffing up her cheeks until they buried her eyes. "Let me be the first to welcome you to East High. My name's Martha Cox." She offered out her hand and said, "I'm co-president of the Scholastic Decathlon team."

I shook her hand and said, "Gabriella Montez. What's the scholastic decathlon team?"

Her smile twitched away, and I couldn't help but feel she was disappointed. "It's a national academic competition. We're one of the top teams in the nation."

"Oh, that's really neat!"

"Most schools have an academic team, but I guess most people wouldn't know that because they're too busy counting baskets and touchdowns." She asked, "Where did you transfer from?"

"I was homeschooled."

"I see." She paused and stared. It concerned me that I couldn't tell what she thought of me, although I felt she was already judging something. "What year are you? Freshman?"

"Sophomore."

The friendliness returned to her expression and she said, "You're eligible to apply for the scholastic decathlon team. I schedule interviews and review applications with the President. If you send me one by tomorrow morning, I might be able to squeeze you in for an interview this week. We only have two weeks to make final decisions about who'll make the team. It's going to fly by before you know it."

As prematurely as I felt she had judged me, I was beginning to form a judgement on her. She was looking more and more insecure by the second. Her worth seemed tied to her title, and that was the only thing that could explain her defensiveness. I said, "I appreciate the offer, but I'm just shadowing. I might go somewhere else."

"But East High is the best high school in Albuquerque. Why would you want to go anywhere else?"

"Just keeping my options open."

"Well, if you do decide to strive for the best, this admission period lasts over the summer. We'll be flying to New York City for nationals then, but you'd miss out if you waited for next fall."

"New York City does sound like fun. I'll think about it."

She reached into her purse and removed a flyer. "This has all the application instructions, and my email for once you're ready to send it. You should CC the president on it to. We'll need to move quick to get you considered on time."

A woman's voice called out, "Martha?"

Martha turned around to face an older woman in a similar knee-length skirt and floral blouse. She walked closer and said, "I didn't see where you disappeared." She acknowledged me with a smile before noticing the flyer in my hand. "I see she's scouting recruits like always." She winked.

Martha said, "_Trying_ to. Gabriella here is eligible, but hesitant."

"What's the hold up? We have one of the best teams in the nation!"

"So I've heard." A hand touched my elbow and I looked over my shoulder at my mom.

"Is everything alright?" She asked me.

"You must be Gabriella's mom. Nice to meet you, I'm Harriet Cox." She offered out her hand.

"Lisa Montez," mom said with a cordial hand shake.

"What do you have here?" Harriet pointed to the fabric in dangling from Mom's fist.

"Oh, these?" She held out a long pair of red socks with Wildcat mascot on the knees. "Gabriella, how about some Wildcat socks?"

Harriet answered for me, "Absolutely not. Nobody wears those." Mom and I exchanged a glance, a silent look that confirmed we both really just heard her say that.

Martha smiled tensely and groaned between her teeth, "Mom."

Harriet said, "It's true! I'm the office supervisor to the deans. I know all the latest trends. Do you see those red lanyards? These are _in_. Knee high socks? _Out_." She snatched the pair from Mom's grasp and flung them onto the nearest shelf.

"I see." Mom awkwardly wrung her hands together like she was applying lotion, a nervous tick for every time she's uncomfortable. "Well, thank you for letting us know." She angled herself away from the strange Cox women to veer us away.

"Are you going to send Martha your application?" Harriet said, and Mom and I were polite to walk away. "You're lucky to have met my daughter. Not everyone gets a leg up like that."

"I'm thinking about it still."

It felt like déjà vu when I saw the kindness drop from her features and disappointment loom over me. A pitying tone was soaked into each of her words, stuck on like a thick syrup coating when she spoke, "It isn't for everyone. The president, Queenie McKessie's daughter Taylor, upholds very high entrance requirements. If you can't get in, there are supportive roles available. I'm sure the team would appreciate the help."

_The help?_ Her words dragged me down like an anchor, the weight of her assumptions pulling me under. It was so unfair and frustrating! I was being judged and scrutinized when I hadn't had the opportunity to prove myself yet.

Mom pounced, "What do you mean?"

Harriet explained in a fake friendliness that bordered on patronizing, "There are only so many spots available, and the entrance requirements are very competitive. We have supportive roles available for students who want to be involved in the club but weren't good enough, like secretary and fund raising. It shows dedication for when they reapply the next cycle."

"We don't need to worry about that," Mom said sternly. "Gabriella will make the team."

Harriet put on a smile that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. She looked pleased by Mom's defensiveness, like it was what she had wanted all along. She was toying with us. "We'd love to consider her," she said.

I said, "Have a good night," and pulled mom away towards the cashiers, taking whatever bookbag I had in my hands with me.

She didn't say much when we checked out, but I knew from her quiet, one-word responses to the cashier's questions that she was still stressed. It was so unlike her to be this bothered by something so trivial.

We left the store with an oversized plastic sack for my bookbag, which was stupid since I could have _worn_ the bookbag out of the store just as easily. Regardless, we found the van right where we had left it a few rows over and got inside.

I mistakenly said, "Well, that was weird."

"I know!" She mimicked her arrogant tone, "I'm Harriet Cox, office supervisor of the deans. Did you hear the way she said that? With arrogance like that, I bet she thinks she's the most important person we'll meet this year."

"Let it go, mom. I don't know why you let her get to you like that."

Mom said, "She was implying you were too stupid to make the team!"

"I didn't take it that way. Besides, why does it matter what Harriet Cox, a glorified secretary, thinks of me?"

"Until you have kids of your own, you wouldn't understand."

_I do have kids, they're just yours,_ I thought.

Pray that I get some sleep tonight with all the anticipation for the morning. I'm going to need all the divine intervention I can get.

_\- Gabriella Montez_


End file.
